


Day 17

by Hekate1308



Series: The Crowley Chronicles [37]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Season/Series 13, Fix-It of Sorts, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-25
Updated: 2018-07-25
Packaged: 2019-06-15 23:53:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15424425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hekate1308/pseuds/Hekate1308
Summary: It’s become a ritual, of sorts.A ritual that takes place on every 17th of every month.Crowley survival story.





	Day 17

It’s become a ritual, of sorts.

A ritual that takes place on every 17th of every month.

Dean Winchester has never forgotten a single day on which they lost someone, and the losses they suffered then were very heavy indeed.

It’s not as bad as it was in the beginning, anymore; no, Cas’ miraculous resurrection, even if he came back down-powered, made everything better; but –

_But._

There’s someone else who lost his life because of them on that day. Even if neither Cas nor Sam ever really mention him.

And so, on every 17th, in the middle of the night, when Sam and Cas are resting or otherwise occupied, he drinks a glass of Craig and tries to summon Crowley.

Nothing ever happens, of course. Nothing can. The demon is gone. And even if he weren’t, the bunker is still warded.

Yes, what he is doing is not only slightly insane, but also completely useless.

But it still feels like the right thing to do, and he’s not harming anyone.

Maybe he’s finally reached the bargaining stage of mourning, and it’s the deal he’s made with himself – he gets to attempt to call Crowley once a month.

It’s another one of his nights of indulgence. Both Sam and Cas are sleeping – the last hunt took a lot out of them all – and Dean carefully pours his drink before stepping up to the devil’s trap. Smiling, he thinks that Crowley might appreciate the nostalgia of it all if for some crazy reason the summoning suddenly –

It works.

One moment, he’s thrown the last ingredient into the fire, the flame flares up for a second, and then –

He’s staring at Crowley, who promptly passes out.

If there is one thing Dean is familiar with, it’s the need to immediately spring into action, and not even a minute later, he has Crowley out of the devil’s trap. But what is he supposed to do now? He can hardly check his pulse.

In the end, he decides to throw some water at him and hope for the best, automatically reaching for one of their holy water bottles in the kitchen before he remembers.

“Don’t be an idiot, Dean” he mutters, shaking his head at himself as he goes to the sink.

By the time he comes back, Crowley appears to be waiting up, and the glass of water does the rest as he pours it unto his face.

His eyes blink open. “Wha – Squirrel?”

“Welcome back to earth, your Highness” Dean replies, a little unsure of how to proceed. For God’s sake, he only then realizes, he even pulled him out of the devil’s trap without a second thought.

And Crowley unexpectedly coming back to life is no excuse for such foolish behaviour. He really should be used to that by now.

For what it’s worth, however, the former king of Hell doesn’t seem in any mood to wreak havoc. If anything, he’s even more confused than Dean.

The suit he’s wearing is the same he died in, and he looks away not to see the gaping hole where the angel blade went in. “Glass of Craig?” It’s the only thing he can think of saying.

“I thought you’d never offer. Your qualities as a host have gone seriously downhill” he drawls, and there is the sarcasm Dean wouldn’t admit to himself he’s been missing for the past year.

“Alright, then.”

They end up drinking in the library. It’s better than the war room, where Dean punched Crowley in the face the last time he saw him, only to end up staring in disbelief as he offed himself for them.

They sit in silence, but to his surprise, it’s neither awkward nor particularly uncomfortable. “Say” he suddenly remembers, “How come you are here?”

“You summoned me. How much have you had to drink tonight already?”

He rolls his eyes. “You know exactly what I meant. The warding. You shouldn’t have been able to –“

“My powers seem to be somewhat diminished” Crowley admits, looking everywhere but at Dean.

“Like Cas’, then. He came back a bit weaker too.”

“What do you mean, he came back?”

Dean spends the next half hour bringing him up to speed.

When he’s done, Crowley shakes his head. “Why do you boys always have to get in trouble?”

“You’re one to talk. Closing the rift is one thing, but killing yourself in the process?”

“It was the only way it could be done.”

“At least you got rid of Lucifer once and for all.”

Even in the darkest times, when both Cas and Crowley were gone, it was a consolation.

“Let’s just say I had to get even.”

“You did. Pretty sure he has as bad a time in the Apocalypse world as you can imagine.”

Crowley chuckles. It reminds Dean of the summer they spent together as demons – as if all of this weren’t complicated enough, already.

“Really though, that new king isn’t up to snuff. Barely inconveniences us, I tell you. They just didn’t know what they had.”

When Crowley doesn’t answer, Dean asks, “What are your plans?”

“Considering my little power problem and the fact that all demons still hate me, I might have to lay low for a while.”

“You can stay here” Dean immediately offers. It’s not just because of their history (at least that’s what he tells himself) – Crowley being on their side once and for all would be excellent news. Guys knows his lore – the spell he pulled on his last day alive (well – so far) proves that more than enough.

“Thank you, but I’d rather not see your dungeon again if I can help it.”

“Don’t be so melodramatic. we have more than enough rooms. True, some may be a little dusty, but other than that…” He realizes Crowley’s staring at him. “What?”

“You are offering me a room.”

“Yes.”

“Without any demands for compensation?”

“Hardly see how there could be any. It’s just a room” he shrugs. “And you really took one for the team, back there. We owe you.”

“That is true. You would have been lost without me” Crowley boasts, his old self-confidence returning full force. Dean breathes a sigh of relief.

“You probably want to change clothes before Sammy and Cas get up. I don’t think I have anything that’ll fit your meat suit exactly, but some of my old things should do well enough.”

He expects Crowley to look appalled and start complaining, but instead he instantly accepts. Somewhat sheepishly (Dean presumes he hasn’t had the need in years) he asks if he can take a shower.

“Sure thing. Bathroom’s in the third corridor to the right has the best water pressure.”

After he’s picked out the clothes for Crowley, and once he hears the water running, he lets himself sink down on his chair in the library once more and enjoys the moment, because if he knows one thing, he knows that nothing ever comes cheap to the Winchesters.

* * *

As it turns out, he’s right.

After he showed Crowley into one of the cleaner rooms, he all but crashed in his own, and so it’s well after ten that he wakes up; for a moment, he doesn’t remember last night, but then he all but sprints out of bed.

It’s good he’s gotten fast at putting on his clothes, because what he stumbles across at in the kitchen can best be described as a Mexican standoff.

At worst… he doesn’t even want to think about anything the scene in front of him resembles.

Crowley is eating cereal (always had a thing for snacking, his Majesty, even though he doesn’t really need to it), still wearing Dean’s clothes; Sam is sitting on the other side of the table, staring at him as if he expects him to attack any minute; and Cas is standing in front of them, looking rather confused.

He clears his throat. “Morning Sammy, Cas – Crowley.”

“Dean” his brother gets up. “Would you care to explain –“

“Alright, come with me. Cas, Crowley –“

“Don’t worry Squirrel, we’ll be talking about our new membership to the came-back-from-the-dead-and-didn’t-even-get-all-my-powers Club”.

As they walk away from the kitchen, Dean hears Cas answering, “I don’t think that club exists.”

Once they’ve reached the library, Sam turns around. “Dean, what the hell? Crowley comes back and you don’t even wake us? Instead, you give him some clothes to wear –“

“His own were torn and dirty –“

“And you show him to the bathroom –“

“Did I mention the dirty part?”

“And you don’t even put him in a devil’s trap!”

“What for?”

Sam stares at him. “What do you mean, what for? It’s Crowley.”

“Yep.”

“Yep? That’s all you have to say about this?”

“Yes.”

“Why.”

“’Cause it’s Crowley, alright? Last time I checked, the guy died for us. Cut him some slack.”

“Dean, he was the King of Hell.”

“And he abdicated. Have you ever known a demon to give a gig like that up in order to hang around our merry little troop?”

Sam doesn’t immediately find an answer to that, but then he begins, “When I worked with Ruby –“

“You had known her what, six months at that point? Also, she hadn’t sacrificed herself for us to get rid of Lucifer, last time I checked.”

“Dean –“

“Look, Sammy” he says tiredly, rubbing his face, “As far as I am concerned, this is a good thing, alright? Let’s just have another good thing after Cas came back.”

“Alright” he acquiesces, “But the second he does anything, I’m throwing him in the dungeon.”

“He won’t” is all Dean says as he leaves the room. He can feel it in his bones; Crowley won’t do anything stupid now.

* * *

Dean’s proven right, but it’s not always easy. Sam still distrusts Crowley, that much is obvious – and Dean continues to be baffled at the demon’s relaxed attitude top that fact. Sam doesn’t want to work with him? Sure, he’ll just accompany Dean on cases (in a somewhat cheaper suit than he’s accustomed to, once his Highness has resigned himself to the fact that they can’t afford Armani). Sam doesn’t listen to him when he makes a suggestion on a hunt? He’ll discuss the lore with Cas. Sam pointedly leaves him out when introducing them to other hunters? He’ll raise a hand, say “Name’s Crowley” and move on.

When Dean asks Cas, the angel looks away. “He’s not used to it, I think.”

“Not used to what?”

“Belonging somewhere. I don’t know for certain, of course… but if I had to guess, I’d say that he’s ready to accept some drawbacks for being part of the team.”

Oh. Well, Dean did punch him that day that seems so long ago now. He squeezes Cas’ shoulder. “Thanks, man.”

* * *

Not everyone immediately accepts Crowley, of course – in fact, most hunters who know who Crowley was are decidedly on Sam’s side (and when it comes to people like Jody, who can blame her?) but Dean is steadfast in his conviction of keeping him in the bunker. Every demon out there would like to get their hands on Crowley, and he’s not about top let that happen.

Crowley has taken to updating the Men of Letter’s library, fixing mistakes and mumbling to himself about how they knew nothing.

Dean likes to think they’re making progress, since even Sam over time resigns himself to working with him.

And then it’s been six months since he summoned Crowley.

Another 17th.

Dean has a fglass of Craig out of nostalgia, and is soon joined by the ex-king.

“How’s it going?” Dean asks.

“Do you mean the library? I have been making –“

“I actually meant in general” he says quickly. “You know, coming back depowered and all that, and right now you’re one of the good guys, must be a bit different than what you’re used to.”

“Oh, you know me. I get by.”

Except for when he’s standing in a wasteland and facing the devil. But Dean doesn’t talk about.

It’s comfortable sitting here with Crowley, and for him, on this 17th, that’s quite enough.


End file.
